Humanity
by imgonnaleaveyou
Summary: Tommy is startled awake, sits up in bed, and sees that he isn't alone.  Can he allow himself to feel something good again?  Slash


Gunfire woke him. Every muscle in him tensed at once, that big body jolting like in half-dreams of falling, tugging the sheets away from the figure beside him in bed. Breathing too quickly, suspended in that momentary sickness of high alert hyper-awareness, Tommy put a hand to his chest and another to his gut, doing a brief self-check. No wetness but for the cold sweat dampening his wifebeater, no holes, no rifle. No sand crumbling in on him, either; just a couple of mattresses on the floor and blue moonlight slanting through frosted glass. A few blocks away, the last of a train was snaking past. Tommy knew from the clatter that the cars were empty, and knew his subconscious had interpreted that clanging as gunshots, that sound carrying well on such a cold, clear night to torment him through the veil of sleep.

He sat slowly, aching everywhere from fighting and training. The first few moments lucid were always the worst - it took a while for battered sinews to loosen – but he welcomed the complaint; it was a reminder that he was doing something useful with himself again. Swinging bare legs over the edge of the bed, he sat with elbows to knees and rubbed the nape of his neck, eyes closed and chin to chest. Behind him, he could hear the peaceful breathing of an occasional visitor, the rhythmic push and pull of restful breaths. Tommy was annoyed and relieved at the other's presence in equal parts, that conflict a constant where it came to the entire situation. He had no concept of how to deal with intimacy or fondness anymore.

The desert had taken him in its teeth, stripped him down to the most basic, animal format his constitution would allow for. The transformation had not been immediate, but rather an opus in progress over the course of some months, the end result achieved by a series of events sprawled between the moment his boots had first hit the sand and the moment he had returned to the United States. He had been born with heart and dedication, did nothing halfway, and the military had capitalized on that, had turned him into a machine and created in him a drive to kill in lieu of being killed, and to protect the brothers in arms the Corps had given him. It had handed him one beautiful, uncomplicated thing in the form of a man with skin the color of caramel, a brilliantly white smile, a sense of mischief and a nagging conscience. Much of Tommy had died with him, and the remaining bits needed rebuilding. He was still working on that.

The present filtered through eventually, and the arid dreamworld dissipated. Tommy turned to look over his shoulder at the company that had joined him in bed while he slept, that body limp and wrapped in such a hard sleep that it looked like death. He couldn't help but take inventory, to stare at the sleeper tangled in his quilt. Open-mouthed, long-legged, fully dressed, with a stolen key clutched against a soft palm, long fingers keeping it pressed there, this kid was nothing if not doggedly determined. He had approached Tommy in the darkness of a corner booth at a pub, had come upon him where he'd been hunched over a pitcher and a pile of wings, complimented him on his shoulders, invaded his solitude with sunny flirtation and relentless chatter. That first night, he had taken Tommy by the hand once they were alone on the street, tugged him to the narrow strip of alleyway and sucked his dick between the dumpsters with his breath making silver furls in the inches between his face and Tommy's lower belly.

It had been around two months since then. The boy didn't stay away when Tommy snapped at him. He didn't look for responses in conversation, just talked. He made himself laugh a lot, and told Tommy things so close to the bone and so painful about his past that the fighter couldn't meet his gaze while he was saying them, couldn't fathom how to answer. On a few occasions, he would walk Tommy the twelve blocks home from the bar, smoking and filling the night with stories about university pranks and his ugly sisters and a dad who had taught him early on how to take a punch to the face. He always hung around dejectedly like a stray dog when Tommy left him in the street, always stood under the street light as though the quiet hulk of a man would change his mind, ask him in, make love to him. What he wanted was so obvious that Tommy could taste it on the air, but the boy's candor made him uncomfortable, reminded him of Manny's easy openness, that intoxicating happy sincerity that was so far from anyone Tommy knew how to be now. It was a pill he didn't know that he could swallow again.

A few days ago, New Year's Eve at the pub, Tommy had been shitfaced in his booth and the boy had been given an extra pair of balls by a row of whiskey shots, and he had stolen that apartment key from the older man's coat, chased him up the three flights of stairs and tried to make it into the flat behind Tommy before the door was slammed in his face. As he had shifted the bolt into place, it had been more difficult than ever to resist hauling that warm body to bed with him.

Tommy made no move to take the key back now, didn't know that he ever would, but he did get to his knees on the mattress and turn to putting his hands to work. Reaching for one chunky black leather boot and then another, he tugged them off the kid, wanting them gone because it annoyed him that they were in his bed.

He didn't have a concrete reason for wanting the skinny black jeans gone, pulling them away from narrow hips and on down legs that went forever, but it amused him and aroused him to see the way those limbs butterflied apart, slack and without any resistance or underwear to speak of. When moving in to take the leather jacket, he caught the unmistakable scent of Jack Daniels on an exhale, and the kid's pliability made sudden sense. Hard now, Tommy pulled stiff sleeves and jerked the coat from lanky arms, guiltily indulging himself with a momentary fantasy of slinging slender thighs up over his shoulders and driving into that boneless body unannounced. He wouldn't do it, but it sealed the deal on his wanting, filled him with a need to persist in his brusque disrobing of this nuisance until the boy's eyes were open and consent was given.

Tommy pulled at the hem of a threadbare white tee, and the moment it obscured fine features from view, the younger man gasped and startled to life beneath him, gripping his forearms. When the shirt was off and the long-limbed body was wholly naked, and when recognition smoothed a furrowed brow, Tommy's hands began to tremble, everything hanging on a few breathless moments of indecision, the silence resounding, thunderous. He watched as the boy's tongue came to moisten his lower lip, their eyes locked. Against his belly something shifted, silky and hot, and when he realized it was the jolt of a stiffening cock, a brutal need slammed through Tommy's carefully-built barrier and punted him beyond the point of no return. He was helpless against it, and he settled his hips in the smooth cradle created by open legs.

"I haven't done everything." The whispered confession fell from soft lips in a rush, and soft, scared hands gripped at Tommy's back.

"It's easy."

"I want to try it."

"Don't worry." There was no keeping the gravel of lust from his voice, and though Tommy was grateful for the expressed desire to go forward with this, he didn't know that he could have stopped now, even without it. His mouth fell on lush olive skin hungrily, tasting the salt of a night well-spent, the sweat of whiskey drinking and clumsy dancing, and the poreless satin was deliciously taut and smooth beneath his appreciative lips and tongue. He made his descent without giving much pause; the foreplay would be just enough, because it had been going on for months.

Awash in the spill of moonlight, the boy lost his breath at the mercy of an animal appetite he was very obviously not used to, and Tommy kissed him everywhere. Every pent up hint or half-thought he had spurned for weeks rushed over the busted wall and became reality, every wet dream he'd been powerless to and angered by, and it felt so good now to act on them all. The willowy body tensed and arched, hands in Tommy's hair as he pulled the younger man's erection into his mouth and hollowed his cheeks around it, flattened his tongue against it, pulling at it with suction so hard it made his jaw ache only to abandon it moments later.

His hands were insistent, shoving at warm skin and turning the gasping, trembling boy onto his belly, and he gave no pause before possessing him once he was there. He plunged his tongue into him, digging his fingertips into the modest rounds of his buttocks to keep him still, and the shocked groan that rose from the virgin's throat was enough to break a sweat across Tommy's brow. Hands driven to futility by the intensity of the moment came to rest against Tommy's wrists, holding on throughout the deep darkness of that kiss while ragged breaths wracked a long, lean body.

Tommy sat up and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, seeking something that might serve to ease his way, finding a tub of Vaseline he used for fights and swiping two fingers through it. He went easy but sure, working one and then another into the heat of the body beneath him, heavy-lidded eyes watching the reaction. Eyes closed, brow furrowed, the boy bit at his lips and twisted his hands in the bedding, weathering it with dark hair falling against his brow, long lashes fanned out across his high cheekbones. He was prettier than Manny.

Taking his innocence was easier than it should have been. Tommy pressed the meaty wall of a hard chest to the other man's back and collared himself with a steadying hand until he had gained enough ground to let gravity do the rest, gritting his teeth and fighting to keep a measured rocking from becoming unbridled rutting. It was a battle he won, and he wrapped massive arms around the skinny boy's shoulders. Hugging him close and secure, the bridge of his nose pressed to the fragrant nape of his neck, Tommy could feel the heat of tears against his forearm where his new lover's cheek was resting, the ticklish flutter of tremulous hands skimming his own flanks and hips as the young man touched him. He kept his rhythm cautious, his eyes closed, and he was consumed by the roaring of his own pulse in his ears, the amplified sound of the college boy's wet and broken breathing beneath him.

It didn't last long. It ended the way it always did, with an insubordinate finishing buck of powerful hips against the subtle curve of ass, and he spilled with a shudder into this body he had been turning away for so long. When they came apart, slickly departing one another into two beings rather than just the one, Tommy turned onto his back and blinked into the dizzy darkness of his ceiling.

Shaken, no limb still, the younger man hesitated before seeking the solace of an embrace. Tommy gave it to him, welcoming him against the tattooed canvas of a mountainous shoulder, burying damp fingers in glossy hair and holding him to steady him. The stolen key glinted on the pillowcase, but neither of them reached for it.


End file.
